“Your aim sucks dude”
“Yeah well your shorts be whack”
“What’re you even saying? They’re my lucky breakaways, just pass the ball”
I catch it and dribble twice before attempting a free throw. It’s way off. Hector snickers behind me.
“That ball be the only thing breaking away homie”
“Shuddup.”
I retrieve the ball and set up from my last spot again. Aim, shoot, miss.
Again.
Aim, shoot, miss.
“Man, this is boring watching you fail. I’m out”
Before I have a chance to say anything, Hector yanks my shorts down and bolts.
Aim, shoot, score.
Guess they were whack.
About the Creator
Oneg In The Arctic
A queer storyteller and poet of arctic adventures, good food, identity, mental health, and more.
Co-founder of Queer Vocal Voices
Water is Life ✊
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More stories from Oneg In The Arctic and writers in Fiction and other communities.
The Rattling of Wars
The antique shop was an antique itself; passed down for generations. No one understood how it wasn't bankrupt, as city folk avoided the shop like the plague. An old murder-suicide tale haunted the place, and the family's compensation was what kept doors open.
By Oneg In The Arctic3 years ago in Fiction
Comments (6)
This was great 😊
*insert balls joke here*
Does he take them with him for long-term exposure, or leave them for merely a few moments of indignity?
Very funny ending to bring the banter full circle.
Hahaha, 🤣😂I had a feeling the shorts was coming down at some point ,lol
❤️❤️